No, you said, I like to feel your lust.
Rain raked and rattled battened doors;
dawn sought the scattered clothes

and nosed them half to life; it kissed your
lidded eyes, your limbs; it stirred the dark
between us. Here, beloved, I'm this open—

your breathless whisper—take me, now.
So I twined my shadow round you, licked
your neck, your breast, let my wanting enter.

The roof beam shuddered with the storm.
A pair of shirts rose up and leaned
above us. Listen, lover, listen to the wind.

The Blunt Fellow

This blunt fellow
              with the red cap on
              with the cleft chin
              and the blind hungers
He stands up for every pretty lady on the bus
and sleeps through Samantha’s party

This blunt fellow
              with the turtle neck
              and the slippery whisper
With patience and imagination he can be civilized
and taught the grace to bow and dance

This blunt fellow
              with his heavy satchel
              lurking in corners
              waiting for a chance
He’s not the chief adornment of his race
but canny ladies know he has his place

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